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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608210">Idiot (with the Painted Face)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/potterheading/pseuds/potterheading'>potterheading</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>me and my husband universe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Domestic Violence, Draco Malfoy deserves better, Established Relationship, Graphic Description, Harry sucks, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Me and My Husband by Mitski, M/M, No Fluff, Physical Abuse, Sad Ending, Strangulation, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, like seriously, not a happy fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:01:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,904</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/potterheading/pseuds/potterheading</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe that had been their mistake. Mistaking fiery passion for love."</p><p>- </p><p>in which draco and harry maintain a loveless marriage.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>me and my husband universe [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Idiot (with the Painted Face)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi! thanks for clicking! </p><p>before u start, please read the tags! this is not a light/happy fic! </p><p>TW for: abusive relationship, domestic violence, suicidal thoughts, and choking/strangulation (ALL BETWEEN DRACO AND HARRY)</p><p>the descriptions aren't too vivid but they are there! </p><p>if you'd prefer something lighter i have another story up that's much different from this one (called 3:15 am) :D </p><p>the title is from me and my husband by mitski, go stream if u feel like crying (or if u wanna know what i was listening to while i wrote this)</p><p>happy reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “What are we doing?”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> If someone was to ask either of them who had actually said it, they wouldn’t have been able to tell. It was on both of their minds anyway. The marriage that had seemed like such a good idea months ago had quickly devolved into slow torture.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> For all of their compatibilities - there was so much more that they would never see eye to eye on. Their arguments consistently started small and insignificant, and quickly blew up and out of proportion. A discussion about sports had more than once turned into a shouting match, slinging hexes and hurling insults.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The apologies were insincere. Neither party was sorry about what they had said, although on occasion they did wish that it had come out a little better.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> If it wasn’t love, spite would be the force that kept them together. Desperate to outlast each other in one final pissing match, wanting to show their friends and family that they had been wrong… that they could work.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Draco shifted onto his side, pulling his sheet up to his chest. He turned his back to Harry and focused instead on the darkness before him.</p><p> </p><p>At least the sex was good. Harry frequently channeled his anger and frustration into passion and tended to take that out on Draco in the bedroom. </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes Harry would kiss him, while he pushed inside. He would grip Draco’s chin with gentle fingers and angle his face upwards and bring their lips together. The kisses were the opposite of their relationship: loving, and careful, and soft. They didn’t kiss outside of the bedroom, except for at public outings to avoid drawing suspicion. </p><p> </p><p>They were good at that - pretending. At the Burrow, Harry would lace his fingers with Draco’s, and casually include him in conversations. He would guide him gently, with a hand pressed to the small of his back. He laughed at his jokes, and smiled at him, and would kiss his cheek, and his forehead, and say things like “This is why I love you”. </p><p> </p><p>It stung, nearly every time, the way Harry would drop his hand as soon as they were in private. The smile would turn to a sneer in seconds, and the love Draco swore he could see in Harry’s eyes would disappear completely. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t love me,” Draco murmured into the darkness. </p><p> </p><p>He heard the shifting of the bed, of Harry turning to glare at his back, or maybe to reach for his wand and finally put Draco out of his misery. He sometimes wondered why Harry hadn’t just thrown him out on his arse. Nobody would blame him… he probably wouldn’t even have to explain. His name, Malfoy, was enough. People would nod in agreement, sneer at the idea of their savior bedding a filthy death eater, say that he was just getting what he deserved. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe they were right. </p><p> </p><p>He had considered killing himself. Slitting his wrists open in the bathroom. Emptying the pill supply and collapsing on the floor of the kitchen. Drowning himself in the pool. He liked to imagine what Harry’s face would look like when he found Draco’s body. Would he shrug, relieved, and then call the Aurors? Would he drop to his knees in tears, reprising his role of doting husband for the last time?</p><p> </p><p>He would never actually do it. Harry, despite his flaws, was objectively a good person. He had died for the wizarding world and didn’t deserve to be saddled with the burden of yet another death in his life. </p><p> </p><p>“Why would you say that?” Harry asks after a moment. He sits up. Draco doesn’t move. </p><p> </p><p>“Because you don't,” Draco says, quietly. </p><p> </p><p>He thinks he can feel his heart breaking in his chest. The same way it had when he had realized that his father cared more about obeying Voldemort than the wellbeing of his family. The way it had when he had discovered his mother’s body, bloody and bruised in the basement. The way it had when Harry had first refused his handshake, all the way back at Hogwarts. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you love me?” Harry asks. His voice sounds strangled and it makes Draco turn around, to look up at him. In the moonlight, he looks angelic. His hair is mussed from sex, and without his glasses, his eyes gleam brighter than ever. His soft mouth is turned down into a grimace. </p><p> </p><p>Silently, Draco wishes that he would just smile. He has a gorgeous, infectious smile, and he’s generous with it. Every time he sees Ron and Hermione, or the Weasley’s, or little Teddy, he grins and laughs, and the smile doesn’t move from his face for the entire time he’s with them. His smile says “<em>Hi, I love you</em>”. It’s standing in the grass barefoot, with your face pointed up the sky as the sun beams down on you. </p><p> </p><p>He never smiles at Draco the same way. It takes on a certain cruel feature, and it never reaches his eyes. It looks painful, and Draco often looks away when it’s directed towards him. He wishes he could go back to 7 months ago, when Harry had at least looked like he cared if Draco lived or died. </p><p> </p><p>Draco doesn’t answer the question. He can’t take the humiliation of it, of having to tell Harry that despite everything they’ve been through, he still wants him. That the slight touches and the kisses that he gives when they are in public have been an oasis in this desert of a relationship. That he holds on to the memory of what things were like for the first 3 months. That he loves him. </p><p> </p><p>“Malfoy...” Harry says, looking down at him. “Answer me.” </p><p> </p><p>Draco winces. Harry doesn’t call him by his given name in private, either, except sometimes during sex. His hips would stutter, and he would murmur a quiet “<em> Draco, please”, </em>chanting his name like a prayer. Otherwise, it was <em> Malfoy</em>, spat out like a seed. </p><p> </p><p>“I need some fresh air,” Draco whispers. </p><p> </p><p>He makes to sit up and escape, but Harry grabs his wrist. It’s not a rough grip like Draco would expect. Rather, Harry's large hands circle loosely around his wrist, it doesn’t say “<em>Stay.</em>” it says, “<em>Please don’t go,</em>”. </p><p> </p><p>Draco stays. He perches on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands in his lap. He tries to train his face into an uncaring expression, flippant and bored. He knows he doesn't succeed. He knows that if Harry looks into his eyes, he’ll see love tinged with hurt, he’ll see the way Draco aches with unrequited adoration.  </p><p> </p><p>“Draco,” Harry says. Draco’s breathing turns shallow, and his hands tremble in his lap. taking a chance, Draco turns to look at Harry. He seems frustrated, but the anger that usually covers his face seems to be missing. It’s a wonderful change of pace, and Draco nearly smiles at the sight. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Harry only ever looks truly peaceful when he sleeps. His lips part softly, and his long lashes flutter as he breathes. Although he tends to fall asleep with his back to Draco, by tossing and turning he usually ends up facing him anyway. Draco lies awake most nights, watching him sleep, his body relaxed, finally without a care in the world. </p><p> </p><p>He wishes they could do that now: lie down, inches apart, staring at each other silently before one of them eventually drifts off to sleep. Before, when things were new and pleasant, they would sleep pressed together, Draco's head tucked beneath Harry's chin, and pressed to his chest. Suddenly, there's nothing he wants more than Harry's hands on his body. If he can’t have his heart, he’ll take the heat of his touch instead. </p><p> </p><p>“What are we doing?” </p><p> </p><p>This time, it’s Harry who says it. He reaches out and uses one brown finger to brush the hair from Draco's face. The way he leans into it is pathetic, nearly purring at the smallest ounce of contact. </p><p> </p><p>Before he can convince himself that it’s a bad idea, Draco is turning, practically lunging at Harry. He brings their lips together, initiating a kiss for the first time in months. He holds his face in the palm of his hands, savoring the way Harry’s facial hair pricks at his palms delightfully. </p><p> </p><p>Harry doesn’t move for a moment. His hands are frozen at his side, and he doesn’t kiss Draco back. Then he springs into action. He brings his hands up, and for a moment Draco thinks they’ll tangle in his hair, or caress his cheek, or grip his waist. They don’t. </p><p> </p><p>The hands land roughly on Draco's shoulders, forcing him off and away from Harry instantly. The hands push him down, into the soft mattress. The hands leave his shoulders, and settle at his throat, pressing. Squeezing. </p><p> </p><p>Choking. </p><p> </p><p>For a moment, Draco struggles instinctually. His hands scrabble at Harry's, and he screams soundlessly. And then he goes still. He looks up at Harry, who is leaning over him. His eyes are burning with hatred, as green as the flash of an <em>Avada Kedavra</em>. Hatred. He hasn’t seen that from Harry in years. Disgust, anger, disappointment, sure. But not pure, unbridled hatred. </p><p> </p><p>It causes him to pause. Distantly, he thinks that maybe it’s better this way. Harry will kill him. He'll get rid of the body, and tell everyone that Draco ran away in the night, tired of their unsatisfactory relationship. Nobody will question him, or look for him. He has nothing of his own: his friends have fled the country, his mother is dead, his father has disowned him, his inheritance has been claimed by the ministry. His husband hates him.  </p><p> </p><p>The life he leads is a pathetic one. So he doesn’t fight back. He lets Harry strangle him, the warm weight of his body settling on his hips. </p><p> </p><p><em> This isn’t a bad way to go, </em> he thinks as the corners of his vision begin to vignette. <em>At least he’s touching me. At least he’s looking at me.  </em></p><p> </p><p>And then suddenly, Harry pulls away. His chest is heaving and he’s shaking his head menacingly. Draco pants softly, his eyes closing as tears slip out. Whether they’re of disappointment or relief, he doesn’t know. His hands come up to his throat, soothing the burn that Harry has left there. </p><p> </p><p>“Harry,” Draco sobs, his voice ragged. Harry only looks away, looking every part the tortured savior that he is. </p><p> </p><p>Harry doesn’t answer. He moves away from Draco, stands from the bed, and heads into the ensuite. The door slams shut behind him, and Draco can practically hear the hum of the wards Harry casts.</p><p> </p><p>After a few minutes, Draco pulls himself from the bed. He stumbles into the kitchen and absently prepares a cup of tea. </p><p> </p><p>When he was a boy, he had fallen out of a tree once, while playing with Crabbe and Goyle. His mother had healed his scraped knees with a flick of her wand and had made him a cup of tea, with two creams and two sugars. It had become a salve and a constant in his life, and he found himself drinking a cup of tea at the times when he needed comfort the most. During his 6th year, he had practically lived off of tea, desperate for the maternal warmth that had enveloped him on that very first day. </p><p> </p><p>As he scooped the sugar into his tea, he thought about how this would end. Were they supposed to stay together forever, in a loveless relationship? Would Harry eventually tire of putting up with Draco, and kick him out? Maybe he would actually kill him. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe one day, while Draco relaxed in the bath, Harry would sneak in and push him beneath the surface, and hold him there until he was gone. Maybe he would poison his tea and make it look like a suicide. Maybe he would <em>Avada Kedavra</em> Draco right in the living room, and then step over his body and go lie down. </p><p> </p><p>Whatever it was, Draco would be okay with it.</p><p> </p><p>He loved Harry, and he trusted him, even though he knew that he shouldn’t. </p><p> </p><p>Draco sips his tea, the hot liquid burning his raw throat. </p><p> </p><p>When he returns to the bedroom, Harry is back in bed. His back is to Draco, and he seems to be asleep. Draco wonders what’s going through his mind, if he feels guilty, or angry. Or homicidal. </p><p> </p><p>He stops in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. His eyes are bloodshot, and a purple bruise is forming on the pale skin of his throat. </p><p> </p><p><em> I look dead</em>, he thinks to himself. <em> Fitting.  </em></p><p> </p><p>He laughs dryly, and quietly, and looks around the bathroom. It's huge and beautiful. When Harry had shown it to him the first time he had imagined a lifetime of steamy shower sex, and lounging in the clawfoot tub. The marble floors and cream fixtures looked somewhat regal, and Draco had felt at home in the space. </p><p> </p><p>He imagines what Harry had done when he had been in here. He had probably paced, and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling on the curls out of frustration. Braced himself on the sink counter and stared in the mirror, wondering who he had become. </p><p> </p><p>Even now, a decade later, nobody can fire him up quite like Draco. There is nobody that inspires such a visceral reaction in him, who can guide him to the point where he releases the side that he likes to pretend doesn’t exist. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe that had been their mistake. Mistaking fiery passion for love. They were each other’s match - no doubt about it. But perhaps they had been better off staying that way - archenemies focused solely on each other's destruction. </p><p> </p><p><em>The past is best left there</em>. </p><p> </p><p>That had been the official slogan of post-war wizarding London. The entire community had focused on reform, and moving forward. Progressive laws and officials had been put into place. Rehabilitation and fines for the bad guys. Accolades and galleons for the good ones. It wasn’t a bad political system. </p><p> </p><p>It was the reason Harry had approached Draco, in the name of “building new bridges and repairing broken ones”. And then he had fucked him senseless a handful of times. And then they had started dating, and soon married. And then everything had fallen apart.</p><p> </p><p>In their case, the past was too great, too damning to ever truly forget. Draco knew that when Harry looked at him, he saw his mistakes. Draco didn’t blame him. There had been times when he had looked over at Harry from across the dining room table and felt the slice of <em> Sectumsempra</em>, and remembered what it had felt like to bleed out on a bathroom floor. </p><p> </p><p>Draco left the bathroom, with one final glance at his reflection in the mirror. He walked quietly to his side of the bed, partly because he didn’t want to wake Harry, and partly because he wanted to feel small - invisible. </p><p> </p><p>It was his fault. He shouldn’t have kissed Harry or touched him at all. He shouldn’t have told Harry that he didn’t love him. He shouldn’t have spoken in the first place. </p><p> </p><p>From a young age, Draco's parents had spoiled him with whatever he wanted - treats, broomsticks, books. The first time he hadn’t gotten what he wanted had been when Harry Potter had rejected his handshake at Hogwarts, 14 years ago. </p><p> </p><p>Lying in bed, his eyes swollen with unshed tears, Draco smiled weakly to himself. </p><p> </p><p>At least he had finally gotten Potter. </p><p> </p><p>Shifting onto his side, Draco pulled the blanket up to his chest, his back to Harry. He focused on the darkness before him and allowed exhaustion to pull him under. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Ron and Hermione sat on the couch, leaning into each other. Harry sat on the floor before them, his knees tucked up to his chest, an easy smile on his face. He threw his head back happily, laughing loudly at a joke Weasley had made. </p><p> </p><p>“How are things with Draco?” Hermione asked quietly. Draco surreptitiously cast a listening charm, putting down his cup of tea. He looked down at the purple bruise on his wrist and sighed quietly, pulling down the sleeve of his jumper. “He seems quiet.” </p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Harry said. Draco could hear the smile in his voice, and Draco knew that Harry had his friends fooled. “He’s just been a little moody recently.” </p><p> </p><p>“Big shocker there,” Weasley chuckled. Draco rolled his eyes and contemplated sending a hex his way. </p><p> </p><p>Knowing his cue, Draco pastes on a soft smile, and pads out into the living room, trying to look busy. </p><p> </p><p>“There he is,” Harry says, his customary smile pasted on. His eyes look warm but Draco can see the threat in them. “Draco, come sit with us,”</p><p> </p><p>He extends an arm to Draco, eerily reminiscent of Draco’s handshake when they were eleven. Draco hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering from Harry's hand to his eyes. When he takes too long, Harry repeats himself, cocking his head to the side. </p><p> </p><p>Turning the corners of his lips up into a tight smile, Draco takes Harry's hand, sits beside him, leans his head on his shoulder. He breathes in Harry's scent, his eyes fluttering shut. </p><p> </p><p><em> He’s going to kill me</em>, Draco realizes silently. <em> I’m going to take his hand, and he’s going to lead me to my death.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Harry grabs his hand and laces their fingers together. </p><p> </p><p>He smiles.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank u so much for reading! </p><p>if u or a loved one are in a relationship that feels like the one written about in this story, please, please, please reach out to someone! </p><p>you deserve real, safe love. &lt;3  </p><p>this fic is ridiculously un-beta'd so feel free to lmk if there's anything off. </p><p>all kudos, comments, and bookmarks are greatly appreciated! </p><p>thank u again :D</p></blockquote></div></div>
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